


Dire Rise

by raendown



Series: Amends to the Dead [4]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26360122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raendown/pseuds/raendown
Summary: When his first brother was born Hashirama held the tiny babe in his arms and promised to protect him always. How cruel that only now when all of his lifelong dreams have come true he should realize that Tobirama, precious Tobirama, has given his own away.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama & Senju Tobirama
Series: Amends to the Dead [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1518203
Comments: 19
Kudos: 145





	Dire Rise

**Author's Note:**

> This is a missing scene from a previous story, [Then Finally A Dawn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22572337/chapters/53939953). Highly recommended you read the rest of the [Amends to the Dead](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1518203) series so you know what's going on here.

Evening hangs like a dark and heavy blanket after Madara leaves, a weight on his chest that presses against his ribs to steal his breath away. Pretending has been difficult in the face of someone he so rarely needs to pretend for. His best friend has been a wonderful distraction, his efforts all too obvious as he tried to repair the mood ruined by their earlier conversation, and Hashirama feels no guilt for letting the man think himself successful. It isn’t his fault the most important part of Hashirama's life has been falling apart in front of his eyes without him even noticing. 

There can be no one to blame for that but himself. 

In the sudden quiet of solitude the house feels empty in a way it never has before. From childhood Hashirama has always enjoyed finding positivity in the smallest details of life, always happy to entertain himself with nothing but the world around him, never lonely even in the rare moments he finds himself alone. Now he stands in the genkan and folds his arms across his chest. If he holds tightly enough then perhaps this aching hole will fill itself, the tears still threatening to spill over will subside. 

His efforts prove futile. Resisting the urge to open the door and call Madara back inside, he turns and makes his way to the living room with heavy, ponderous steps. The cabinet in the corner sings to him with sweet promises of ignorance. It would be all too easy to pick the lock and drown his shattered heart with sake or plum wine or whatever other blissful potions are hidden away therein. Mito holds the key but he would be a poor shinobi if he couldn’t find his way inside without it. Hashirama sinks down on to the couch and leans forward to stare at the cabinet as though it will give him a reason not to. What he wouldn’t give in this moment not to feel the sensation of falling, breaking, failing the one person in this world he had promised himself he would never fail again. Knowing that to give in to the drink would be little more than another failure is all that keeps him in place.

Waiting takes forever. Hashirama sits in his empty home and wonders if this is even a shadow of what his brother has been carrying alone for months now. How alone must he feel with no one to share his burdens? How deeply has Hashirama failed him if he feels he cannot ask for help? Questions without answers chase each other round and round in his mind until at last the front door opens and Hashirama lifts his head to look at the clock. A tentative stretch of his senses brings the warmth of Mito’s chakra reaching out to entwine with his own, salt water and a warm sea breeze, tempestuous yet tightly controlled. 

For the first time since the day they met Hashirama is honestly disappointed to see her. He swallows the shame of this as she walks in to the room, pausing to take in his expression before hurrying across the floor to take his face between her hands. 

“Tell me.” Her voice is quiet steel, strong and soft, every inch a queen ready to bow if only to bring a smile to his face. Oh how he loves her. 

“I’m waiting for Tobi,” he tells her. “We…we need to talk.” 

Mito studies his face through narrowed eyes. Then she bends forward to lay a kiss against his forehead so gentle he can feel it upon his very soul like a balm he doesn’t deserve. “Should I stay with you while you wait?” 

“No. I need to think about what to say and I haven’t really been doing any thinking so far. It’s all so...I don’t know. He’s not okay. And how could I ever be okay if he isn’t? Except I didn’t  _ notice _ .” His eyes fall closed almost as a barrier against the benediction of another gentle kiss. 

“You can tell me as much or as little as you like when this is done - but it sounds like you’d like to speak with him first. Will you be alright alone?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Her smile is understanding in a way that pierces. “Then I won’t press you for answers. I’ll go to bed. You know that you can wake me if you need to.” Genteel fingers with hidden strength card through his hair. “Even if all you need is someone to hold you.” 

The words sting where they hide behind his teeth; he doesn’t deserve comfort right now. Right now it is his duty to comfort another that he hadn’t even realized he’s been neglecting. Perhaps neglecting is not the right word, he has of course not forgotten his brother in any way, has in fact paid him as much loving attention as has been normal since they were young and clinging to each other, the last of their line. That does nothing to stop the guilt from rising up to whisper in his ear that he’s let his beloved Tobirama down in a way he vowed he never would. All this time the younger man has been suffering right before his very eyes and Hashirama has been blind to it. The last thing he deserves now is to be comforted for dishonoring the most precious of all his bonds. 

As the hours pass Hashirama imagines himself spreading roots, anchoring his misery more and more with every minute until he isn’t sure he will be able to sit in this room again with a quiet cup of tea and not think back on this moment. He imagines that Tobirama must feel the same in his own way, unable to escape the darkness inside, unable to ask for a light to guide him out, washed in a loneliness that should have never been his and forced to walk through every day knowing the next would be just the same. That ends tonight. If he must crawl in to the darkness himself and find the path for them both he will.

When Tobirama comes home it is long past late and Hashirama's knees are stiff with inactivity but he rises from the cushions without remark for the way his muscles creak and strain in protest. He sees the caution in those eyes, the weariness, and bites viciously upon his own tongue to hold the tears at bay. 

“I’m surprised you’re up.” Soft spoken, unassuming, but there are cracks in his voice now that Hashirama knows to look for them. He should have been looking long before now. 

“I was waiting for you.” 

“Ah.” Tobirama blinks slowly, the corners of his lips tightening with suspicion. “Is something wrong?” 

Before he can push it back down a sob bubbles up and Hashirama snaps his teeth down halfway through the noise but the damage is done. “So, so much. I’m sorry, Otouto. I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” 

What hurts the most is the honest bafflement in his face. His brother has no idea at all why he needs to apologize and just seeing the curious tilt of his head brings the tears back, spilling down Hashirama's cheeks in an instant. It should have been obvious what was upsetting him. It should not be so far outside the realms of possibility for him to share his brother’s hurts that they do not even occur to the man. 

Hashirama crosses the space between them with his hands outstretched and the surprise in the expression looking back nearly shatters his heart. It’s not as though a loving touch is uncommon between them. Perhaps it’s the way he falls to his knees and presses his brow to the floor at pale feet. 

“Please forgive me. I will be better, I promise! You deserve more than a sibling who could ever let your pain go unnoticed but I swear I’ll be better!”

“What–?” Tobirama kneels and buries both hands in the back of his shirt to pull his face away from the ground. “Anija what the hell is going on? Stop that!”

“You’re hurting,” Hashirama cries. 

His brother stills, several expressions flitting one after the other across his face. All of them are gone too quickly to identify but he settles quickly on the sort of blankness that showed itself most often when they were small things still new to the world, their emotions so easy to display and so quick to bruise. It’s something Hashirama realizes that he’s seen more often lately and oh he curses himself for not recognizing it sooner. 

“I’m fine, Anija, there’s no reason to be throwing yourself at the floor like this.” 

“You are not fine! You- Madara spoke to me today.”

He only catches the minute flinch because his eyes are wide and staring. 

“Whatever that fool told you is an exaggeration I’m sure, he’s your friend not mine. Surely it can’t be worth staying up until the fool’s hour when you have plenty of work to do tomorrow.” Tobirama shakes his head as if to dismiss the issue but it cannot possibly be that simple. Not now that Hashirama knows what such dismissals are meant to distract him from. With desperation in his veins he takes his brother’s hands between his own and shakes his head.

“Don’t. Tobi, I know that you’ve been following Izuna.” The way red eyes fall away from his own are all the confirmation he didn’t need. “I thought that you were doing better. Why…why didn’t you tell me that this was still on your mind? I could have helped. I  _ want _ to help! A-and even if I can’t I want to be there for you!”

“This isn’t something that I need help with.”

“But you’re not okay!” 

Tobirama draws in a deep breath but it rattles like the death he so nearly escaped. “I’m truly fine. This is the best solution. You have your dream now and I will do what I must to protect it, is that so hard to understand?” 

“You’re allowed to have your own dreams, Otouto.” 

“I’ve never been much of a dreamer,” Tobirama responds blandly. His thoughts are hidden in the lack of proper inflection.

Heart shuddering in his chest, Hashirama reaches out to gently touch the side of his precious brother’s jaw, feeling the invisible scars left behind by a lifetime of war and hidden by the boon of naturally pale skin. “You’re allowed to build your own life, follow your own paths. I love you, you know that I appreciate everything you’ve done to support me, but I just...I don’t want you to build your entire self around me. You can be your own person separate from me.” 

“How do I put this?” Tobirama asks the space between them, something faraway in his eyes. And yet underneath the aching sadness there is something like peace in his expression. An insidious sort of peace that doesn’t belong. “You’re like the sun, brother. And I’m the moon. The moon can’t make her own light, you know; all she’s ever done is reflect the sun. ”

“You are  _ not  _ the moon! You are a man! You’re my little brother and you’re sad and I hate it!” The emotions inside him rise up like such a wave it cripples him and Hashirama curls in to himself with a wretched sob.

“A little lost, maybe,” his precious sibling admits distantly. “I’m looking for answers like I always have, that’s in my nature, but I’m finding them. Everyone wants to have a purpose in life. I found mine in you. Why should that be something to make either of us sad?”

With his eyes shut tight Hashirama feels the touch of soft skin against his own. Fingers more gentle than many could ever believe stroke the side of his face until finally he relents. Looks up. He finds Tobirama looking down at him as though accepting the mantle of the elder sibling on to his own shoulders, brows drawn together with concern. And Hashirama wishes he knew how to turn the man’s concern back inside of himself to make him care for his own well being. 

His knees creak with protest when he shifts his weight but he ignores the rough grain of wooden floors pressing in to his skin. Perhaps he should have worn something more than a short and well worn yukata. But then, perhaps he deserves a little suffering to make up for the fact that he has ignored Tobirama’s for so long. 

“I’m sad,” he says, “because you’re not happy.”

“Says who?” Tobirama challenges him. Then he flinches when Hashirama returns his gentle touches with one of his own. 

“Your eyes say so. Your actions say so. Would a happy man say the things that you did to Madara?”

“My conversations are my own business.”

Just like that the curtain falls between them and Hashirama can almost see physical barriers rising in those beloved red eyes. His brother pulls away his emotions even as he pulls his hands away too, standing to brush imaginary dust from his clothing. Looking at him has never been so painful before. 

“Don’t go,” Hashirama pleads. “We need to talk about this!” 

“No, we don’t.”

“Please! I just can’t stand watching you wrap yourself in my shadow like this!” 

Tobirama blinks once and then turns, speaking over his shoulder without looking back. “Then don’t watch.”

With that he walks away in the long strides of a man firmly set upon his path. Only the years and the love between them give Hashirama the clarity to see the slightest of tremors and he knows - he  _ knows _ \- that Tobirama is more torn than he is willing to say. He is a man who has doomed himself to a fate that he does not want. And he is a man that will follow this path until the end, whatever that may be. It defies the laws of possibility that Hashirama’s heart could break any more than it already has. 

For a very long time he sits upon the floor of the living room and stares at the walls as though they might come crumbling down between two brothers so close and yet so strangely far apart for the very first time. He can’t remember a time before when Tobirama kept him at arm’s length and that aches almost as much as knowing the depth of the pain his sibling carries inside. Now time passes him by unchecked while he curses the cruelty of the world, that he could be declared a god of the battlefield, a healer of unsurpassed skill, and he cannot heal the one hurt that matters most. He cannot heal a broken heart. And not even the Yamanaka can heal a broken mind.

Night lies heavy on the world like the burdens pulling his shoulders down as Hashirama realizes that he has been kneeling alone in the dark for too long. Strange, he thinks distantly, that neither of them thought to turn on the light. It makes him wonder how often his brother uses the environment as an excuse not to meet his eyes. Rising from the hardwood makes his knees creak again and his spine pop in several places. He’s getting older. And he feels every minute, every hour, every day upon him on the slow unsteady journey down the hall. Mito’s chakra calls to him like a beacon that he cannot decide if he wants or not, though his wishes are the last that he feels deserve to be taken in to account, and it doesn’t matter very much what he wants anyway. He is helpless to the siren call of the woman who loves him just as he has been since the day they were bound together. 

At the door of their bedroom he pauses to lay his forehead against the frame and breathe deeply. Does he deserve to expel his own pain when Tobirama cannot? He doesn’t know. There’s so much he doesn’t know. 

What he does know is the sweet scent of his wife’s hair when the door opens. She must have felt him. Even a child with little more than basic chakra manipulation training could probably feel his roiling chakra a mile away right now, the way it rolls and folds in to itself lie a boiling cloud of black smoke, choking everything around it. Mito’s hands frame his face like fragile glass and only then does he realize that his eyes are still closed. She pulls him in to the room. The door closes. And the damn breaks.

Tears flood his eyes and spills over his cheeks, rivers of salt and anguish pulling him under the way Mito pulls him in to her arms. Like the steadfast rock that she has always been for him he leans against her and lets his grief batter them both, trusting her not to let him wash away in the storm. 

“I’m here,” she whispers against his temple. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?” 

So he does. He tells her everything. Tells her of the conversation he had with Madara, tells her how badly it hurts to fail the last of his family, and he tells her that he does not know what to do now. Helping has always been his way and the inability to do so tears at the very fabric of who he is. Mito listens to his story with the patience of a saint until at last his words have run dry. Then she folds him to her breast and holds him tightly as though she too can feel that he is only a moment from flying apart. 

“I’m so sorry, my love,” she tells him. “So, so sorry.”

There isn’t much else for her to say. He can hear in her voice that she has no more answers than him but he’s not sure he’s earned them anyway. What hurts he has wrought are up to him to fix; he won’t allow these burdens to rest on anyone else’s shoulders. This is his cross to bear and fixing it will be his task alone. 

Or, it will be if he can figure out how. 

For now he curls tightly against the warmth of his loving wife and whimpers as the tears begin anew. Perhaps it makes him a weak man to accept her comfort when he probably shouldn’t but this is a strength he has never pretended to have. To lean on those who offer support should be one of life’s greatest joys. How terrible that such offers are made only in times of despair. With a whimper building in his throat, scraping past his teeth as something of a muted howl, Hashirama lets his despair run freely and revels in the darkest hidden corners of his mind. For now he will grieve. 

Tomorrow he will go to his brother again and bend words to scribe his thoughts as best he can. Tobirama always did hate when their conversations grew overly emotional. Approaching him from a more reasonable frame of mind will surely afford him an opening to talk about their situation at the very least. He prays so. Words are all he has to offer, words and a bleeding heart. 

He would give his heart a thousand times if only doing so would bring joy to his last, most precious brother. 


End file.
